An Awkward Conversation
by guessthisismypenname
Summary: "...there it was. His hand, on her bosom. HIS hand – on HER bosom." Rated M for almost-smut and mention of stuff.


**Based on the prompt: Ron and Hermione have an awkward talk about sex a few days after the battle.**

Dawn rose over the horizon of the small town of Ottery St Catchpole to a world washed clean with rain. The cloudburst had begun the day after the historic battle of Hogwarts and nine days later, they were still graced with light showers that only stopped for a couple of minutes every few hours.

In his small orange room, the youngest Weasley boy cracked open an eyelid and smiled lazily at the water drops trickling down his window pane. It was a good day to stay in bed. Come to think of it, why was he up so early? Even Hermione was still off in dreamland.

Oh that's right. _That's_ what woke him up. Hermione's warm body – no, scratch that – warm _naked_ body was pressed up against him. As if this wasn't enough of a predicament, she kept making little sighing noises that only further helped his blood rush south.

He thanked his lucky stars that Harry had taken Percy's old room without needing much persuasion. He had given him an annoyingly knowing look when he'd suggested it.

He shifted slightly, trying to adjust himself without waking her up. A sudden flashback of last night's incredibly uncomfortable talk entered his mind unbidden. He cringed as he recalled the awkward way in which he had fumbled through the exchange.

It had become their ritual to retire to Ron's room after everyone else at the Burrow had gone to bed. The time between then and sleep was spent in long talks about nothing, longing stares and languorous kisses. They always stopped before it got a bit too heated, and surprisingly, it was always Ron that eventually pulled away. He was more than a little afraid that he wouldn't be able to stop himself if he let himself go, and it was becoming harder to resist her caresses with each passing day. Caresses that went just a little further up his thigh with each passing day.

And last night, when he finally felt bold enough to let his hand hover in the air over her right breast, she made an impatient sound in her throat and gently grabbed his hand to bring it to her breast. He had squeaked then. Oh Merlin, he'd actually _squeaked_. And she had laughed into his mouth.

They broke apart in order to be able to breathe again, but there it was. His hand, on her _bosom_. _His_ hand – on _her_ bosom. _Hermione's_ breasts. His clouded brain was clearly having trouble forming coherent thoughts.

He squeezed it experimentally, and the small gasp she let out was almost his undoing. He licked his lips and tried to control his erratic breathing. His ears felt hot and he wasn't entirely sure what to do next.

"You can – I mean, we can… I don't mind you know. Going further. Or-or all the way," Hermione said shyly.

"R-really?"

"I mean, if you want," she replied hastily. "We don't have to."

"I do. Uh, I do want to," he said, his words tumbling out before he could stop them. "I – I just…are you sure?"

He sounded far too hopeful, and the colour of his face was beginning to match the scarlet of his ears. Hermione took a deep breath and nodded.

"Ron," she said softly. "I-I've been sure for a long time now. We've waited for so long, haven't we? I don't want to wait anymore, I've wanted this for too long now. And I love you, you know that."

She sounded more composed and confident now, and he looked down at his hand still cupping her breast.

"Unless you want to wait, of course. We can go slow, if that's what you want," she didn't sound so sure anymore.

"I – no. Yes. I mean, n-no," he shook his head, cursing himself mentally. "I mean - I love you too. And I don't want to wait. But I don't want to do anything that you don't. I don't want to… push you."

She smiled at him, that brilliant smile that made his brain all foggy and made it difficult to breathe.

"Trust me, Ron. I want this," she nearly _moaned_ and then looked ever so slightly embarrassed.

Her wild hair looked like a halo in the dying candlelight and his breath caught again. His heart beat wildly as he made his next move.

"M-may I?" he asked as he raised his other hand to her chest.

Her smile became wider. She nodded and his lips crashed down on hers.

Not long after, he had lowered her onto the mattress, her smooth thighs against his denim clad ones, the delicious feel of her breasts against his chest. And suddenly they were both desperate, urgent. Her hands were running up his back, exploring the skin under his shirt even as he moved his lips over hers.

He couldn't help but let his own hand wander under her skirt and her smooth skin was soon covered in goosebumps. One of her hands raked through his hair and the other wound around his neck, pulling him closer. Ron would be content to stay there, simply snogging her until they were completely out of breath except her thigh was pressed against his cock making the friction through the layers almost too much to bear.

She moved her lips to his neck and he shivered as she lightly nipped the skin at a sensitive spot. He felt her smile against him; she clearly knew he was at her mercy. Through sheer will, he managed to not move his hips and brought his lips back to hers. His last intelligible thought was of her beautiful eyes darkened with want.

The deed itself was artless. Neither of them knew what they were doing and they floundered inexpertly through undressing each other. They were hesitant, and awkward and completely in love. It was perfect.

Hermione shifted in her sleep and brought him back to present. He sighed contentedly and looked down at her, half her upper body was splayed across his chest. Soon, she was going to have to wake up and tiptoe back to her and Ginny's room before everyone woke up. But for a few more minutes, he was simply going to enjoy his immensely uncomfortable position under her and the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof.


End file.
